Intercourse, PA-Gettysburg, PA 9/30 66 driving miles; 20 battlefield driving miles; 12 walking miles

Because we spent the majority of our day touring the Valley of Death, we met no "best" humans today. We did spend much of our day with heads bent at the feet of monuments. We walked the ridge where the army of Northern Virginia held their ground, we gazed across the wheat field where Pickett led his charge, we stood atop Little Round Top staring right across the Devil's Den where sharpshooters on both sides positioned themselves among the rocks. We circled much of the  battle area on a driving tour, but we barely scratched the surface. The Gettysburg battlefield is literally speckled with monuments to the fallen. 170,000 soldiers fought for three days. In those 72 hours, 50,000 were dead or wounded. Unfortunately, our ability kill or maim each other had surpassed our ability to heal, which meant many died of infection, and those who didn't suffered horrifying cures such as amputation without anesthesia to name just one. I've had the opportunity to visit one other Civil War battkefield: Shiloh. Shiloh emitted a sad and somber feeling, almost sacred. Maybe it's the vastness of Gettysburg, but to me, it felt empty and hollow. Historically, Gettysburg was the turning point. If the South had won here, I can only imagine what form America would have taken. It's impressive, and it's surely right to honor the fallen. I guess my rose colored eyes just wishes that we humans could learn the art of compromise. Finally, never have I been more grateful to be American. Even though I'm here soley as an accident of birth, I'm grateful for those who gave their lives so I can live free. It makes me realize more than ever that life is good, especially today.

Art shot of the day: The cost of war.

Brigader General Warren, who was killed by a sharpshooter, as he stood atop Little Round Top.

Cannons stand guard on every knoll.

Death captured head...

to hand...

to toe, to painful bootless toe.

Too many civil war buildings to capture, but this is typical.

Edwardo in his Dirty Harry glasses (1860 building).

Gettysburg town square.

Abe Lincoln conversing with a modern man.

This monument stands where Lincoln gave his Gettysburg Address.

Why does it take great sorrow to muster true compassion?

For certain the dead will speak no answer.

Killens Pond State Park, DE-Intercourse, PA 8/29 96 driving miles; 8 walking miles

Around eight-thirty in not much of a hurry, we aimed the car toward Intercourse, PA. Our first turn around, nearly an orgasmic swirl, took us in a u-turn so I could get a closer look at a South Seas Green 1953 Eldorado Coupe (A make and model I've dreamed about more than gjrls, more than a pro basketball career, more than winning the lottery, more than world peace, more than equity, more than anything you can name). I doubt I'll ever own one but if I did, I would be soooo cool. After that scintillatingly cheap thrill things went fine until I missed a turn when Route 1 merged with too many junctions for me to choose. Then they went even better. We found ourselves off the highway on a "red" road as Ed calls them. Technically, it was highway 41, which led us through a little town called Avalon, PA where Ed spied a coffee shop (So he could have his cup of the day). There we met two "best" humans of the day, Art Paiglianiti and his lovely daughter, Rhiannon (Like the song). They opened their Natural Foods Store/Bakery/Breakfast Lunch Bar in January and after a tough beginning seem to be digging in. They are certainly more examples of good people working hard, living the dream, and their warmth spread over us like the delicious special butter they put on their fresh baked buns.  Art gave us a bun and a taste of his vegetarian chili. If we hadn't been saving ourselves for The Good and Plenty restaurant in Smokerown, we'd have eaten there. I promised Art I'd spread the word, and those of you who know, know I'm serious about food. Because of the promise of rainy weather, we rented a tiny cabin at an RV Park outside of Intercourse. Due to his demotion, the Prince will sleep on the floor while I take the bed. Our midday outing found us in Lancaster, PA, a town if some sixty thousand whose history is older than our country, but it's also a town struggling to recover from the bad times of recession. We went there to see the Lancaster Central Market, which has been a market on the same plot if land since 1730. It is stunning and features fresh foods that include vegetables, meats, baked goods, canned goods, dairy goods, and ready to eat foods. The purveyors, both Amish and English, are helpful and eager. I didn't have a bag big enough to buy what I wanted, so I settled for some local   apples and a quart of black cherry yogurt. I had to be physically restrained from buying a chunk of pecan fudge as big as my arm. We asked a local book store owner the best and worst question. She replied, "The best of Lancaster is the food; you can throw a rock in any direction and find good eats built on local fare. The worst, she said, was the lack of livable wage. Lancaster has a thirty percent poverty rate, but one of the lowest unemployment rates in the country. Affordable housing is an issue as well. As usual in the East where space is lumited, wealthy neighborhoods sit mere blocks away from poor, ramshackle tenements. The wealthy live in vast Victorian mansions while the poor live in tarred tenenents linked together like arms of scared children walking down a dim street. Another current phenomenon, the "hipster" (Young people with money) armada has invaded. They prefer what used to be servant's quarters, which they renovate into very posh andcharming living spaces. This is all well and good and has much to say in rebuilding the economy; however, it also serves to evict an already disenfranchised group: the poor. This is an American problem that could quite well spell our doom as a nation. The gap ever widens while so many take Marie Antoinette's attitude: "Let them go eat cake." Once again I hear the call. I wonder if there's some greater power waiting for me to get off my fat butt into action. In the meantime, I watch, learn, thank and pray, and above all remember that life us good, especially today.

OMG!

Even better.

Art and Rhiannon entranced by Ed.

Local wheat, ground yesterday.

Nicely layered flavor; sweet, not too spicy.

Selfie of the Day: I saved myself for the thin gruel they serve here.

For my thin gruel, I chose the Dutch Sampler: Meatloaf, Chicken, Pork in Saurkraut. Whipped potatoes and sweet corn as my sides (Haha).

Shoo Fly Pie for dessert.

LancasterCentral Market.

Another of the dozen aisles.

Typical Victorian.

Tenemants just a block or two away.

Renovated servant quarters.

Modern Amish transportation.

Amish NIMBY.

The richest farmland in Lancaster County, just a few contrasts away from everywhere.

Amish traffic jam.

Our dry camp tonight.

Spring Lake Heights, NJ-Killens Pond State Park, DE 9/28 139 driving; 85 minute Ferry; 6.75 walking miles

Sad we were to leave the tender arms of Gramp and Gram Pearsall, but ever grateful for their true expression of Christian charity. It's not easy hosting Ed Druoin, his driver, entourage, and endless train of servants. Denny and Susie managed it with graceful aplomb. After Denny fixed us a scrumptious short order breakfast. (King Ed ordered eggs, which Denny embellished with peppers, cheese, and onion along side toasted buttered English muffins, juice, fruit, and coffee). He packed us a lunch and added fwo sweet donuts to boot. What service! Before we left, we got to meet Grady James, Denny's grandson, who is as happily bright eyed and aware as his Grampa. I really did almost turn around so as to spend a few more days in the nurturing Pearsall arms. But alas, the Fat Butt tour must venture forward toward more adventure, more turn arounds, more thin gruel, and more "best" humans along the way. We idled South, following Denny's excellent directions until we detoured a bit trying to find the road that runs the length of the barrier islands. Our first turn around found us following the Parkway into Cape May. We walked around Cape May, a deliciously kept Victorian town for a couple hours, got some sand in our toes walking the beach, and chatted up a few locals who seemed content living in their town. "Best" human of the day goes to Cheryl Jackman who works the ticket booth at the Cape May-Lewes Ferry. She was upbeat, friendly, helpful, and gracious, even though when we asked her what the best thing about living in Cape May was, she replied, "The off season, when all the tourists go home." Prince Ed (I demoted him today, lest his haughty grandeur be too much for Debbieupon his return), muttered, "Methinks she's forgotten who butters her crust." Thr ferry ride took eighty-five minutes. We were graced with gently rolling seas, whale and dolphin sightings, and an unseasobably (I guess: 80 degrees and 88 % humidity) warm day. Departing the ferry, we instantly found ourselves surrounded by lush farmland, thick, dark stands of trees, and calm, polite drivers. We arrived at Killens Pond State Park around five, set up camp, and drove just a few miles for food. By dusk, we were in our tents listening to the serenade of the night bugs. Clearly, life is good, especially today.

Gramps and Grady James saying goodbye.

Shop alley: traps galore and surprisingly busy for an off season Monday.

Lots of cool Victorians.

Typical vivid coloring.

A few venerable whites.

Friendly locals, some of the few actually working.

A fabulous expanse of soft sand beach.

Quite a few "combers" showing how it's done.

"Best" human of the day: Cheryl Jackman.

Selfie of the day: Leaving the ferry dock.

Delaware breakwater.

My quarters.

And a soft good night.

Spring Lake Heights-Grand Tour of the Jersey Shore 9/27 59 car miles; 5.3 walking miles

Although we missed Mass today, we spent the morning in a state of sacred reverence. Long time neighbor and close friend of Dennis and Susie, Bernadette Sherman, was honored as a Gold Star mother (Mothers of soldiers lost in service) in a relay running event beginning in Cape May, NJ and ending at the Vietnam Memorial in Holmdel, NJ. The run, one mile for one soldier, is now 188 miles long. All along the way, the runners (All currently serving military), stop to recognize and honor each mother, family, and friends. They stop, come to attention, and say, (paraphrased)...your child may be lost, but they will never be forgotten. Bernadette, who spent the morning in frantic grief, demonstrated the kind of courage only a mother knows. It was a powerful spiritual moment and demonstrated faith in its most severe test. I felt humbled by the experience and ever more grateful for the freedoms I enjoy. Afterward, Denny took us on a guided tour of the Jersey shore that included the 911 Memorial on Mount Mitchell (On a clear day, NYC is visible), the Twin Lighthouses, Sandy Hook, Asbury Park, Ocean Grove (A Methodist enclave established in 1869. The community members still spend their summers by the shore living in rustic canvas tents), and a steady string of towns speckled with Victorian structures from the immensely opulent mansions of the rich to the more humble homes of the working class. We walked a stretch of the boardwalk along the shore, Bruce Springsteen music B-Bopping in the background, and even though the summer season has ended, the towns, shops, and restaurants were doing a brisk business. It's ironic. The locals mutter under their breath, "Bennies (Tourists) go home." Yet, it is these folk who spend the money to keep the towns   vibrant. Due do to Denny snd Susie's generosity (And guide skills), we enjoyed a sweet taste of Jersey. What can I tell you, life is good here in Jersey, especially today. 

Denny and Susie, who don't drink coffee, broke out this vintage machine (A wedding present: 39 years). It works like a charm.

Denny cooked us Jersey's version of a "heart attack waiting to happen" (Pork Roll Egg and Cheese). Quite worthy of Fat Butt status.

Sgt Stephen Sherman, killed in Iraq 02/03/05 by a roadside IED.

Bernadette, loving mother and "best" human of the day.

The platoon leader presenting the Gold Star flag.

The salute.

A child forever honored.

A yellow rose is presented to each mother along the route.

Long may she wave.

The great hall in the Methodist enclave in Ocean Grove. Stokes was the community leader for twenty-seven years.

Methodist families come to the shore and spend the summers living in these canvas tents. There's about four square blocks of these coveted tent sites, each a stone's throw from the ocean.

 The shore is littered with Victorian structures like this one.

The boardwalk goes on for miles.

You should start humming the song right about now. On the boardwalk....

Art shot of the day: Newlyweds.

Backhanded Jersey salute to absentee Governor Christie.

Each gray ribbon recounts the timeline of 911.

Selfie of the day: Ed and I with Dennis and Susie.

The Fat Butt twins.

A fitting end to a special Sunday: a prayer at St. Catherine's ( A replica of the Vatican). Gratefully, I live by the grace of God.